


Maybe I Bury My Freedom

by Asellas



Series: Life Eternal [3]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Angst, Autophobia, Ghoul Lore, M/M, Multi, Unbeta'ed, Whipping, feelings are hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25316413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asellas/pseuds/Asellas
Summary: Nothing really puts things into perspective quite like nearly dying from a massive head injury. It certainly showed him that perhaps he hasn't done such a good job of things like he thought, and that there were indeed repercussions to his actions. Dewdrop just hopes he can come out of it in one piece.(A sequel toWould You Let Me Touch Your Soul Forever?, following our dearest gremlin, Dewdrop)
Relationships: Dewdrop ghoul | Fire ghoul/ Aether ghoul, implied Aether/Copia
Series: Life Eternal [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1486604
Comments: 20
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

His head ached terribly, as if his skull were trying to split in half. As did his face, chest, and gut, in so many places that they just coalesced into a single mass of pain. Licking his lips he tastes blood, the forked tip pressing against a split in his bottom lip that brings forth the salty, metallic tang he knows so well.

_ Must have pissed them off real bad for them to beat me like this, _ he muses, slowly rolling onto his side. Even moving as gingerly he could the pain spiked hard, making him hiss and cough as his nose and mouth were coated in dry dirt and dessicated grass. The drone of insects in the afternoon heat filled his ears, exhaustion keeping him from getting up and dragging himself back into the village.

“ _ Dewdrop…? _ ”

He blinks, groaning at how sharp the sunlight bit at his eyes, wondering what the soft, almost inaudible sound was.

“ _ Dewdrop! _ ”

“Ugh,” the young ghoul groans, “the fuck is that…?”

“ _ Dewdrop! _ ”

Something about the urgency of the word, the way the voice in his head spoke it, scratched at his mind. “The fuck is a Dewdrop?” he mumbles softly, closing his eyes from the glare of the sun. He just wanted to fall asleep, let the dry heat soothe away the hurt till his father came looking for him. Maybe he’d get lucky and be carried back home to be fussed over by his mother, have the astringent salve rubbed into the cuts and bruises with firm, yet careful, fingers.

“ _...Dew….? Dew, please…. _ ”

_ Who are you, what is a Dewdrop? _ He wonders at the voice, noting that it seemed like it had been forever since he’d heard it. The tone had changed again, now soft and almost desperate. A new ache wells inside him, different from all the others pulsing along his nerves, it’s edges blunt but throbbing deeper, into the very core of his being. It makes tears well in his closed eyes and his throat go tight, emotions he was used to ignoring scrabbling away for a foothold inside his chest. He tries to resist, biting down on his split lip to make the pain burst bright and take over. It doesn’t work, making him twist in panic, needing something,  _ anything _ , other than  _ that _ to take over his mind.

His heart lurches hard and he opens his eyes, sucking in a harsh breath.

No desert, no scorching sunlight, no sharp blades of dry grass digging into his back. Just the gentle light from the bathroom casting velvet shadows and soft sheets beneath his bare back.

“What,” he croaks, throat feeling like sandpaper, mouth dry as the desert he’d dreamed about.

“Huh? Dew…?” There’s a shuffling noise from the bedside and the fire ghoul tries to leverage himself up to see who was there. Agony sears through his head and he grunts, going limp against his pillow to try and weather it.

“Hey, stop, stay still. You’ve had a serious head injury,” Aether croons, voice laced with worry. Dewdrop settles with watching Aether push to his feet and take a few hobbling steps before stretching out his muscular legs, heading into the bathroom then coming right back with a bottle of water. He settles back on the chair at Dew’s bedside, helping prop the injured ghoul up and take a drink. Were the circumstances different and his head not splitting so badly still, Dew would balk at this kind of treatment, even in private. But right now the water was a balm to his parched throat and he drank it greedily, sighing softly when the bottle was empty.

"Head injury… What happened," Dew asks, voice still hoarse but at least working. The quintessence ghoul makes a soft sound, rubbing Dew's back gently.

"What do you last remember?"

"Uh… I dunno…"

"Do you remember your name?" Aether asks, voice threaded with worry.

"Course I know my name," the fire ghoul growls, indignant. Aether gives him a pointed look till he sighs, rolling his eyes, "it's Dewdrop. Happy?"

Aether nods, smiling slightly. "Do you remember my name?"

"Yeah, 'dad'," Dew huffs flippantly. "Aether… Not like I could forget your name."  _ Or anything about you…  _ "You fixed it, right? My head?"

"Yeah, but head injuries… they're some of the hardest to heal. The mind is so easy to damage, but you never know if you fixed it right till you can talk with them." The big ghoul runs his fingers gently over the fire ghoul's head, fingertips applying pressure softly along the back. Seemingly satisfied with what he found, Aether strokes the long tresses of hair, trying not to catch his claws in the knots that had formed while Dew was unconscious.

Dewdrop tries not to purr at the attention, instead asking again, "so… What happened?”

“You got in a fight…” Aether hedges, as if not wanting to talk about it. Dew knows Aether hates how violent he can be but he’s never seen him so hesitant about it. If anything, he expected to get quite the lecture.

“Did I win?”

The big ghoul turns to give him a somber look, something a mix of worry and, dare he say it, disappointment. “No… no you didn’t,” Aether says, voice soft. Dewdrop blinks, taken aback by not only the tone of his voice but also the words themselves. He opens his mouth to speak but Aether cuts him off with a shake of his head. “You were almost killed, Dew. If the Cardinal hadn’t come at the moment he had, Omega would have broken you like a doll. You’ve been unconscious for two days while your body recovered from the healing I did…  _ two days _ , Dew.”

“I…”

“No, just…” Aether shakes his head, rubbing his hands over his face. “Stay in bed. Do you have any aches and pains? Can you move your fingers and toes?”

Holding out his hands, Dewdrop flexes his fingers slowly. They were a little stiff but they still worked as they should. He wiggles his toes, then the tip of his tail. “Seems fine. My head is fucking splitting though,” the small ghoul says.

“I’ll bring you something to eat, and some medicine for the pain. Lay back and rest, okay? Please?”

“Yeah… Okay.” Dewdrop grumbles, watching Aether push himself upright and head out of the room silently. Despite seeming like he was sulking, Dewdrop was concerned. He’d never seen Aether look or sound this tired, not even after five straight nights of rituals without a break when they were touring. A weird feeling makes his insides squirm, something he didn’t want to put words to and think about.

_ Thinking hurts… just sleep. Do what Aether said, deal with it later… _

With a pained sigh Dewdrop relaxes back onto his pillows, closing his eyes and hoping whatever Aether brings makes his head stop aching.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dewdrop attempts to understand emotions and fix things in his own way. It does not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a different perspective of the 'Dewdrop tries to apologize to Rain' scene from the last chapter of Would You Let Me Touch Your Soul Forever?

There was a certain amount of tension in his fellow band ghouls, Dewdrop noticed once he was able to get out of his bed. While they’d all seemed very relieved that he was up and seemingly back to his usual self, he could tell something wasn’t quite right. The most obvious of which, he noted quickly, was the absence of Rain.

Guilt wriggled in his belly at that, after he’d been able to examine the hazy memories from the fight. He hadn’t meant to hurt the water ghoul, but when he’d come back reeking of another ghoul’s rutscent he hadn’t been able to stay in control. Dewdrop knew he’d have to apologize or…  _ something _ , much as he hated to admit it even to himself. It was almost time for breakfast, he figured he could go and say his thing to Rain, then they could both go and eat.

The fire ghoul doesn’t bother with knocking on Rain’s door, letting himself into the darkened room. At first he wondered if the bassist was still asleep but he was already up, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking like he was about to be sick.

“You look like shit,” Dewdrop says, looking Rain over critically. Part of him can’t help but notice that there wasn’t any scent of another male ghoul around him, just the cool, soft tang of the water ghoul filling the room. There was something else there too, hiding under Rain’s scent… the smell of blood. That, and the bandage taped to Rain’s neck, piqued his curiosity.

“No thanks to you,” the water ghoul mumbles, shifting slowly as if getting ready to push himself up.

“Whatever,” Dewdrop brushes the comment aside, eyes glued to the bandage. “What’s wrong with your neck?” He crosses the room in a couple of strides, leaning down and sniffing. There was something definitely wrong about whatever injury it was hiding, and he reaches out and pulls it away to see for himself.

“Unholy fuck,” he gasped, eyes going wide at the state of Rain’s neck. Dewdrop could smell the sickness bright and clear now, mixing with the metallic scent of blood that still seeped from the puncture marks.  _ Mine… those are mine. My marks…  _ “Rain, that’s infected, why the fuck haven’t you gotten it looked at? You damned idiot water ghoul!”

“Not like you  _ care _ ,” Rain grunts, finally trying to stand. The need to help him, fix him, rears and he pushes Rain back to the bed with a quiet growl.

“Bull  _ shit _ ! If I didn’t care I wouldn’t fucking be here! You’re  _ mine _ , so I have to look after you.” Dewdrop crosses his arms over his chest, angry that Rain had let the wound fester to this point.

“Care?  _ Yours _ ?! ” Rain surges upward, jabbing a finger into Dewdrop’s chest and snarling at the shorter ghoul. “I am not your  _ thing _ ! I never have been, and never will be! I won’t be another placid toy for you to fuck around with and break, then discard and go to the next one! Just because, because you’re the lead guitar doesn’t mean you own any of us. I pick who I belong to, not you!”

“Just because you’re mixed blood,” Rain barrels on, “doesn’t mean you have to keep acting like you have to prove something! We don’t care if one of your parents was a water ghoul, it doesn’t make this a contest to see who the biggest, meanest ghoul here is. So just… fucking calm down and leave me alone.” The water ghoul is shaking by the end, breathing harshly and glaring with such intensity that Dewdrop had never seen from him before. That soft, quiet Rain would snap like this, at  _ him _ , throws the fire ghoul into stunned silence.

Dewdrop does the only thing he can think of in the face of such a thing: he turns tail and runs.

Back in the confines of his room, door firmly shut behind him, he drops onto his bed, breathing harder than he should and feeling…  _ something _ . He doesn’t know exactly what it is, but it makes his chest tighten and his head go light. Dewdrop rolls onto his side and curls in on himself, staring blankly at the wall.

This was how Aether finds him sometime later.

“Dew? Hey, what’s wrong?” The big ghoul asks, coming inside and gently grasping Dewdrop’s shoulder. “Is your head hurting you again?”

Dewdrop’s first instinct is to turn and fling his arms around Aether, pull him down on top of him and press his face into the crook of his neck, like he used to do with his mother’s skirts when he was a kit and had been bullied. But as the quintessence ghoul came close he caught his scent, almost drowned out underneath another.  _ Parchment, india ink, a very specific cologne, rats… Sweat, pheromones, cum... _

His stomach clenches, turning sour at the implications the scent brings with it.  _ He was gone all night, and now I know where… and with whom… _

“Rain,” Dew croaks, turning and pulling away the big ghoul. “Go see Rain, he’s sick.”

“Rain?” Aether’s brow furrows, tilting his head.

“Yes, Rain. Go, he’s not good,” he insists, knowing the bassist was in dire need of medical attention. “He’s in his room. I was just there.”

Nodding, Aether turns away and darts out the room without further inquiry. Dewdrop lets out a held breath, pressing his hands over his face for a few moments before rolling off his bed and pushing the door shut again. He trudges into his shared bathroom, pulling off his clothes as he goes, leaving the garments where they lie as he cranks on the shower to the hottest water he could get. Once it starts heating up he steps into the shower, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he lets the near scalding water beat against his skin.

Rain’s words echo through his thoughts, sharp and biting. The bassist was right, much as Dewdrop was loath to admit it. He had a tendency to bristle and feel like he had to prove himself more than any of the others, letting his temper flare to keep back anyone who’d question his ability and status. And he couldn’t help his possessiveness, much as he has tried to reign it in. Hadn’t Rain been the one to ask him for attention to begin with, that day on the bus? Sure, he’d made a mess of it by running out on him but he’d apologized, made amends. Rain had been softer, more open to curling up against the fire ghoul on the couch in the back of the bus, sometimes shifting to lay his head in Dew’s lap. That meant he’d agreed to it, didn’t it?

But then there came Omega…

Dew makes a face, growling softly. Of course, like everything always tended to, it all came crashing down. Scenting Omega on Rain so strongly after his heat really drove it home. Everyone that he tries to keep as his own, to protect and look after, always abandons him for someone else. Rain favored Omega over him, Ifrit had Mint.  _ Aether has the rat… _

There’s a thud as he throws his head back against the shower tiles, pain blossoming across the back of his skull. Even with the healing it was still a very delicate and tender spot, and he wonders if he hit it just right it’d split right back open. Dewdrop resists the temptation, instead pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, claws digging into his wet hair and scalp. He chased that bright, biting pain, desperate for the distraction it brought from the hurt that makes his throat go tight and tears sting at his eyes.

Eventually everything fades, drained out of him as if the water washed it all away. He feels weird and empty as he shuts the shower off, dripping puddles of water along the bathroom floor as he goes over to the shelf for a towel. Wringing out his hair he pauses, orange eyes affixed to the reflection of himself in the mirror. For a brief moment he lets his glamour fade entirely, gazing forlornly at whip-thin arms, legs, and tail, skin missing that prized, smoothly dark color and instead fading from dark gray to dark tan in places. He was nothing like any of his tribe, a weird mishmash of features from two different elements.  _ Weird… Ugly… Freakish.... _

As the old taunts and jeers come crashing back from his memories he slams his glamour back in place, shuddering and pushing them back away before they could send him spiraling down again. Dewdrop stumbles from the bathroom, uncaring as he leaves a trail of water behind him in his haste to be away from the mirror and it’s taunting reflections. With a huff he flops onto his bed, curling up on his side and looping his tail around himself.

He wished Aether were there, wanting his calm strength and reassuring words. Even if he was still reeking of the Cardinal, he wanted the big ghoul to hold him close and hum softly till everything felt better.

But, Aether doesn’t come back.

Minutes tick by, turning to an hour. Two hours. After three he hears the soft rumble of speech outside in the hallway, yet no one approaches his door till the talk fades and all is again silent. Another hour passes, his stomach complains loudly of his missing breakfast. Groaning, Dew pushes himself up and off the bed, stretching out stiff limbs before rifling through his dresser for clothes. Doubting he’d have to leave their wing of the church, he forgoes their uniform and pulls on an old pair of jeans and a hoodie he’d stolen from Aether on their first tour with Papa III. He at least takes a moment to brush his hair, grumbling under his breath as he pulls a brush through the tangled mess.

“Shouldn’t have let it dry like that… looks like a fucking nest,” he snarls at his reflection, running his fingers through the straightened strands and tossing his hairbrush onto the counter. Outside in the hall it’s quiet and still, as if he were the only one still in their rooms. He pads barefoot to their kitchen, craning his neck and squinting at the empty couches as he passes the common room, just in case he might find one of his fellow band ghouls.

But none were about; he was well and truly alone.

Solitude did not suit Dewdrop. It felt strange to be alone when he’s so used to being crowded together with his bandmates for so long on the road, something he never thought he’d ever really miss. It was like he was exposed, out in the open where something bigger and badder than him could be watching, hidden, and waiting to pounce and tear him apart. Dew ducks his head and darts around the kitchen counter, heading quickly to the fridge and peering inside. It wasn’t yet stocked back up to their normal standards, having only been back from tour little over a week now, and nothing caught his interest. He tries the freezer next, pushing aside boxes of popsicles to find a small frozen pizza. He didn’t really care for them, if he was being honest with himself, but it was either that or instant noodles and at the very least the pizza would be more filling.

He turns on the oven, tossing the box to the counter then reaching into his pocket for his phone, only then realizing he’d left it back in his room. He darts back to scoop it up off his nightstand then returns to the kitchen, just in time for the oven to signal it was preheated. He rips open the packaging carelessly, fighting to remove the frozen block of dough and cheese from the cardboard and plastic wrapping then tossing it to what he assumed was the middle of the oven and shutting the door. Dewdrop has the forethought to at least set a timer; despite what some others said about him he didn’t  _ like _ to eat burnt food, just that he wasn’t one to waste food if he could avoid it and would choke it down rather than throw it into the trash.

“Hey, you’re up.”

Dewdrop jerks his head up, nearly dropping his phone and fumbling for it. “ _ Fuck _ , don’t sneak up on me like that,” he growls, glaring at the blurry figure at the dining table. The softer voice and tall silhouette mark the newcomer as Mountain, and despite his tone he was happy to see the drummer.

“Forget your glasses again?” Mountain asks, walking closer to lean against the kitchen counter.

“Yeah,” Dew huffs, running his fingers through his hair.

“Are you… feeling alright?” The lanky earth ghoul shifts nervously, making Dewdrop wonder if Mountain thinks he’ll try to attack him.

“I guess,” he shrugs. The more he thought about it, he wasn’t sure how he felt, so many emotions and feelings tumbling about inside him that he just flat out refused to try and make sense of them anymore. “Head doesn’t really hurt anymore, so that’s a plus.”

“That’s good.” Silence stretches between them, awkward and laden, before Mountain continues on hesitantly. “We’ve all been… worried, lately.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dewdrop mumbles, looking away. “Sorry.”

Again the awkward silence stretches out between them till Mountain shifts away, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “Well, I’ll leave you be. See you later.”

“Later.” Dew watches as the tall ghoul retreats, disappearing around the corner and down the hall. A moment later he hears the click of a door opening then shutting again, meaning he was back to being alone. He sighs, making a face at his phone before shoving it into his back pocket.

_ Did Mountain always seem that closed off around him? Or was this newfound nervousness stemming from his incident with Rain and Omega? _ The more he thought about it, he couldn’t really tell. Mountain had always been quieter than the rest, but far as Dewdrop knew they got along just fine. Sure, he poked at him a little, but he does that to everyone so it wasn’t a big deal, right?

_ You thought the same thing about Rain… now look where that has gotten you. _

As the realization hits home Dewdrop wraps his arms tight around his middle, swallowing hard.  _ What if they all are like that with you? What if they all think the same way about you, but you’re only just now noticing it? What are you going to do when you’re left all alone after they decide you aren’t worth their time? _

His phone vibrates in his pocket, startling the fire ghoul. He pulls it out, hands shaking a little as he taps on the screen, letting out a soft sigh of relief when he finds out it was just the alarm going off, signaling his pizza should be done. The thought of food was completely unappetizing now but he takes it out of the oven anyways, sliding it onto a plate and looking down at it glumly. In the end he takes it back to his room with him, eating it without really paying attention to the taste since he doubted anyone else was going to eat it if he put it in the fridge.

As he flipped through websites and apps on his phone he hoped Aether would come back at some point. Time moved so slowly he wondered if it was moving at all at times, an hour stretching out to feel as if it had been half a day at least. Dewdrop eventually props his phone up on his nightstand, plugging in the charging cable and flipping through the variety of shows and movies on Netflix, trying to find something worth paying attention to. He finds some vaguely interesting movie and starts it, grabbing one of the extra pillows he’d stolen from Aether and hugging it to his chest as he watched buildings explode and giant monsters fight giant robots. He falls asleep at some point, still clinging to the hope that Aether would be there when he woke up.

Dewdrop wakes sometime later to someone shaking his shoulder. He grumbles, tail flicking and pulling away, pressing his face further into his pillow.

“Dew, wake up,” a tired voice sighs, prompting the fire ghoul to crack open an eye.

“Uh? Wha?” Turning over he finds Aether standing at his bedside, looking extremely worn out with bags under his eyes.

“Copia wants to see you,” the big ghoul says, running a hand through his short hair in an attempt to try and keep awake.

“Come’ere,” Dewdrop mumbles, holding his arms out. “Look like shit, come to bed.”

Aether shakes his head, “no, he wants to see you  _ now _ .”

“Ugh, can’t he wait? It’s--” a quick glance at the alarm clock on his desk says it’s almost ten at night-- “it’s fuckin’ late. Come to bed with me. Just sleep. Please?”

“Dew,” Aether grits out, as if at the end of his patience already, “I’m too tired to deal with that shit right now, okay? Go to his office and see what he wants.”

Dewdrop blinks, taken aback by the tone of Aether’s voice.  _ Either it’s something bad or he’s just in a pissy mood. Not a good time to press his buttons and test his mood. _

“Fine,” he huffs, “I’ll go, whatever. Don’t get your panties in a twist, fuck…”

“Can’t you just do something without…” Aether growls, then stops and takes a deep breath as he throws his hands into the air. “You know what, nevermind. Just go, before he sends someone after you or comes down here himself.” With that he turns away, heading into his own room through their shared bathroom, the door slamming closed with more force than necessary. Dewdrop is left to stare after him, belatedly noting the soft scent of that same cologne still clinging to the other guitarist’s clothes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dewdrop knew some kind of punishment was lurking on the horizon, he'd fucked up too bad to get away without one. It is, unfortunately, not the slap on the wrist he was expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a quick reference, the names I use for the papas:  
> Papa I: Enzio  
> Papa II: Giovanni (Gio)  
> Papa III: Antonio (Toni)

“Ah, Dewdrop. Come in,” the Cardinal says, looking up as the guitarist enters his office. He motions to the space in front of his desk with a gloved hand before lacing his fingers together and resting them on the desktop.

“You needed to talk to me?” Dewdrop asks, taking the place he’d been pointed to. He wants to cross his arms over his chest, disliking being treated like any regular old ghoul in the church but knowing petulance wouldn’t be tolerated by the Cardinal. Instead he clasps his hands behind his back, standing to attention like he did during the rituals.

“Yes. I am glad to see that you have healed up relatively well. There are no lingering effects from your… mishap?”

Dew’s eye twitches and he can’t help but be defensive. “No. Aether always does a good job with healing.”

“I see. Good.” Copia sits back in his leather chair, hands staying together as he moves them to his lap. Mismatched eyes bore into the fire ghoul, as if he could see right through Dewdrop’s uniform and into his soul. Dewdrop has never been subjected to such scrutiny from the Cardinal before, feeling like he needed to hide from that intense gaze before the clergyman picked him apart.

“Aether has told me that Rain has not fared very well. He nearly required being sent to the infirmary for his injuries,” Copia says, eyes watching Dewdrop closely, accusatory.

“I… I know. I’m… sorry for all the trouble.” the fire ghoul mumbles, looking down at his feet.  _ See, you won. Happy now? _

Copia is silent for a moment; when he speaks again his voice is softer in volume but with a razor sharp edge. “While I appreciate the apology it will not, sadly, be enough for a case of this severity.”

“So, I’m going to get punished,” Dewdrop states, having been fully aware it could happen since he woke up after Aether healed his head.

“Correct. However, there has been quite a debate on how to go about it… and the  _ severity _ of it.”

Dewdrop can’t help but swallow hard, finally lifting his eyes to look at the clergyman as a ball of cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach. “So… what were the options?”

“The Second Emeritus… He demanded that the same punishment that was given to Omega be also given to you.”

“What did he get?” The dread grows sharper, as if it digs in thorns into his inside. The second Papa had never cared for him, stopping just shy of openly despising Dewdrop.

“He’s spending a week in the dungeons. Chained in silver,” Copia states, watching the fire ghoul’s reaction to the words. Dewdrop shudders, shoulders hunching up and his tail wrapping tight around his leg before he could stop himself. “However,” he goes on, “With your position in the band and not a very long time before the next tour, it would not be the most prudent punishment. It could very well maim you for months, and we do not have the current luxury of training  _ another _ ghoul to shuffle around positions at this current time. After some... consultation, I proposed a different course of action instead.”

Tension drains out of the ghoul as he gives a relieved sigh; the mere thought of being placed in silver was terrifying to him. “Thank you,” Dew mumbles softly, “so, what’s my punishment going to be, then?”

“One week of isolation. The others, however, did not think that severe enough…”

Dewdrop gulps, eyes going wide in fear.  _ One week… alone. By myself. Oh fuck, I’m going to lose my mind… _

“...so, in addition to that, you will receive twenty lashes. Mete out by the Second Emeritus and without any healing given unless the damage goes beyond what has been deemed appropriate.”

“I…  _ Fuck _ ,” Dew breathes, sliding his hands up underneath his mask and scrubbing at his face.

“The whipping will not be public; the only witnesses will be myself, Sister Imperator, Papa Nihil, and the Emeritus. You will be allowed into a solitary recording booth to participate in practice sessions; you can hear your fellow ghouls’ instruments and they can hear yours, but you will not be allowed to see or communicate with them. This was the one concession I was able to make for you, considering your position as our lead guitar.”

Swallowing hard, Dewdrop looks back up to the Cardinal with a pleading gaze. He knew it was futile; the sentence was already passed and Copia was merely the messenger. “I… When…?”

“Now. I am to escort you to confinement after everything is done. If you would please, surrender your phone. I shall make sure it is taken back to your room; you will not be allowed to have it while confined.” Copia rises from his seat then sighs softly, straightening his robes by habit then holding his hand out. Dewdrop looks at it blankly for a long moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling his phone out, handing it over . Watching the device be slipped into one of Copia’s pockets slams the reality of it home, as if it were his last lifeline connecting him to…  _ everything, really. _

Nodding, Copia squares his shoulders and motions to the door. “The papas and Sister Imperator are waiting. Let us not keep them too long.” The fire ghoul nods stiffly, moving as if on autopilot following the Cardinal through the church. He half expected the halls to be crowded with brothers and sisters of sin and ghouls to watch his walk of shame, but much to his relief the few of them he saw paid them no attention.

“I would not wish any of this to be public,” Copia murmurs, as if picking up on Dewdrop’s thoughts. “It will benefit no one to undermine your position within the clergy, even for punishment. To be a band ghoul is a coveted thing, something for the other ghouls to strive for. The clergy sees how necessary it is to nurture such a sentiment.”

“Smart,” Dew mumbles softly. It wasn’t bad reasoning at all; similar tactics were used by various tribes and clans back in Hell.  _ At least they’re giving you that instead of turning you into an example, become the laughing stock of the whole church, _ he thinks to himself, not paying attention to where Copia was leading him, merely watching the hem of his red robes as they walk. An odd sense of detachment settles over him, as if he were sitting back watching some kind of video of himself placidly following the Cardinal. There’s a small hope that he can stay this way, keep his mind divorced from his body through the physical punishment about to be dealt. But that hope is crushed as he jolts back into himself when they stop at a large door made of polished black wood, looming dark and ominous at the end of the dimly lit hallway.

“Come, we do not have time to waste,” Copia tells Dewdrop in a soft, almost sympathetic voice, making the ghoul start. He hadn’t noticed that he’d stood stock still for the past few moments, eyes wide and lips parted as he breathed through his mouth. Dew shakes his head and squares his shoulders, nodding to the Cardinal to signal he was ready. Copia inclines his head then grasps one of the handles, hauling the door open.

The room is huge, making Dewdrop wonder how a place this large is hidden within the church. The layout is circular, the short entryway from the door he and the Cardinal enter through appears to be at the bottom level with terraced seating encircling the room. It reminded him of the fighting pits back home, of the huge one built at the oasis in the heart of the Blistering Sands. Dewdrop can’t help but peer up into the gloom, finding the rows of seats to be, thankfully, empty. Ahead, standing around two tall wooden posts dug into the ground, were the assembled clergy that Copia told him were to be in attendance. Papa nihil stood in the center, arms folded into his voluminous sleeves and looking quite irritated. To his right was Sister Imperator, looking stern and imposing as always, and Papa I with his almost sleepy looking, dour face. To his left were Papa II and Papa III; the younger antipope seemed to be the only one besides Copia whose face showed some semblance of compassion towards the ghoul.

“Ghoul. You know why you are here,” Papa Nihil’s voice echoed through the empty chamber. For a brief moment Dewdrop wonders how he had sounded in his prime, how imposing and commanding his voice had been before age had started to whittle him down into the nearly decrepit figure he’s become.

Not quite sure Nihil was wanting an answer, Dewdrop kept his response clipped.“Yes.”

“For causing injury to another ghoul, for inciting violence within your ranks, you are sentenced to twenty lashes followed by a week’s isolation. Have you anything to say for yourself?”

Dewdrop feels the weight of the attention on him and has to push away the desire to hide. He swallows hard, forcing himself to look up from his feet and meet the elder Emeritus’ eyes. Dew shakes his head, knowing if he spoke now he wouldn’t be able to contain his vitriol.  _ Yeah, flipping out at the entire papacy, that’d be the absolutely worst decision in your entire life… _

“Well then, lets get on with it,” Nihil grumbles, waving a hand for the others to begin. The Third Emeritus comes forward, mismatched eyes flicking to the figure of the Cardinal at Dewdrop’s back then settling on the ghoul’s face.

“ _ Amico _ , you must remove your coat and shirt,” he murmurs, “but leave your mask in place.” Dewdrop nods, fingers reaching up to undo the buttons of his tailed coat with steady precision. He shrugs it off his back, pulling at the sleeves to take the garment off, folding it neatly in half and handing it over to Toni who gives him a shallow incline of his head. Next was his tie, then pushing the suspenders from his shoulders, then finally removing his black dress shirt. Toni took the tie and shirt and stepped away to hand them to the First Emeritus, returning as Copia led Dewdrop between the two wooden posts The two humans each took one of his arms, pulling them out and attaching leather straps to his wrists to tether him to the posts. Before he steps away, Copia produces a leather-wrapped piece of wood, offering it to Dewdrop.

“To help,” he says quietly. Dewdrop bares his fangs in a silent snarl, giving a miniscule shake of his head.

“Please,  _ amico _ , take it,” Toni sighs softly, plucking the piece of wood from Copia’s fingers and waving him away. He gives Dew a pleading look that the ghoul just can’t ignore.

“Fine,” he whispers, grimacing as he allows the retired antipope to place the wood between his teeth. Toni gives him one last nod then resumes his place next to Nihil, trying not to look too petulant at the fact that Copia takes the Second Emeritus’ place. Dewdrop’s eyes follow the stern-faced man as he walks over, a coil of leather held in one black-gloved hand as he checks the bonds securing the ghoul’s wrists. Nothing is said between them as the older human nods in satisfaction at the bindings and makes his way behind Dewdrop, his robes making a soft swishing noise on the stone floor. Ears perked back, Dew strains for any sounds that might signal the beginning of his punishment, tenses when he hears the soft sound of whip being uncoiled yet it seems that time stretched out and nothing comes. He counts his heartbeats waiting, wondering if something has gone wrong or perhaps this wasn’t real at all? Maybe this was some kind of punishment on his own, making him hallucinate that he was going to be whipped and tossed into a cell alone. He’s never even heard of other ghouls being whipped as punishment…

A crack shatters the silence, followed immediately by a sharp, stinging line from his right shoulder to spine. Dewdrop’s fangs sink into the leather as the pain sings bright and hot. The second lash lands lower, on his left side. The third on his right, then left, then right, back and forth. He is thankful, at the very least, for the fact that as Papa II seems to have fallen into a rhythm, lash after lash after lash falling in line with some unknown cadence. Dewdrop tried to keep count but the pain quickly made it impossible, time dissolving into an infinite mesh of fire and pain.

And then, at last, the whip did not fall again. Breathing ragged from his nose Dewdrop blinks rapidly, dispelling the tears that had gathered unwanted in his eyes.  _ Not going to cry, not going to do anything, not going to give them the satisfaction of it. _ As he looked up Toni and Copia were again working on his wrist restraints, pulling the leather free from his chafed skin.

“Easy, easy, it’s done,” Toni murmurs, voice soft and soothing as he and Copia helped support him as his legs remembered their job. The tone pissed Dewdrop off and he wanted to snarl at the man, yet as Copia gingerly pulls the leather wrapped wooden piece from his mouth he gives Dew a miniscule shake of his head.  _ Right, let's not piss them off right now…  _ Instead he clenches his jaw, wanting to spit and get the taste of leather off his palate but again knowing it would not be a well-recepted gesture. Once Dewdrop’s legs seemed to hold him up without shaking Toni pulls away, letting Copia take over at keeping the ghoul on his feet as he went and retrieved his clothes.

“One week of isolation,” Nihil grunts, shifting irritably and making Sister Imperator roll her eyes.

“Take the time to reflect on your actions,” the Sister tells Dewdrop, voice stern and brooking no argument. “I hope that you will have learned something from this. We will not tolerate behavior such as you’ve shown us; should there be a next time, the punishment will be far more severe than this.” Her cold gray eyes bore into Dewdrop, the gaze just as sharp as her tongue. Dew swallows, nodding in acquiescence.

“Yes, Sister,” he mumbles when she gives him a pointed look, nodding in satisfaction once she’s received his verbal response.

“Good. Now, we all have plenty of business to attend, yes?” She looks at the Papas, who all nod and murmur softly as they all take the hint from her and shuffle away in a scuffing of shoes on stone and the soft rustle of fabric robes. Toni stays behind, Dewdrop’s clothes held draped over an arm as he watches the rest of the clergy leave the chamber.

“Such business does leave a foul taste in my mouth,” he sighs, dramatic as ever. Dewdrop notices how Copia’s eye twitches at the youngest Emeritus’s words, flicking over to him then dropping away before the other human notices. “I do hope you understand I quite  _ vehemently _ opposed such treatment, yes?”

Dewdrop grunts, hissing softly as the lashes pulse with searing pain. Part of him wants to snap back at Toni, hiss and growl and kick him to the floor. Show the foppish idiot that he wasn’t going to cower and allow them all to push him around. Pushing that part of him down was always hard, his fire ghoul lineage detesting the requirement to bow and scrape to these weaker beings, following their ridiculous rules and punishments. He tries to focus on memories of his father, always quiet and calm, taking time to think over his words and actions as water ghouls were more keen to do, trying to channel that same sense of serenity.

“I am sure you have much work to attend to, your eminence,” Copia replies in a smooth voice. “I can take care of things from here, do not let us keep you.” Toni glares at the cardinal; were he a cat, Dewdrop knew his hackles would be rising and tail fluffing up. The air between them fills with tension, neither human wanting to be the first to give in and look away and back down. The show pisses Dewdrop off; he reaches out and plucks his shirt from where it hung over Toni’s arm, ignoring the sharp flare of pain along the welts on his back the movement brings.  _ Don’t want to deal with their petty bullshit right now. Everything hurts and I’m too fucking tired to deal with their dumbass rivalry right now… _

“Yes, much  _ important _ work,” Toni seethes after he almost flinches when Dewdrop snatched his shirt away. “I’ll let you finish this up, since it  _ was _ all your idea in the first place.” Dewdrop almost expects him to throw his remaining clothes to the floor before turning and stomping off, but surprisingly, he merely hands the tailed coat and tie to Copia before stalking away. Once the door booms shut behind him Copia sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before turning to the ghoul. It seems as if he wants to say something yet he doesn’t, looking extremely weary now that there was no one to posture for. Dewdrop finishes the buttons on his shirt, grimacing as he pulls his suspenders back onto his shoulders. He does his tie sloppy but doesn’t care, just wanting to finish putting his clothes to rights so they could get out of the empty chamber.  _ Fuck this place, still feels like it’s full of eyes watching me, judging me...  _

“Let us go, then,” Copia sighs softly, once Dewdrop has fully buttoned his tailed coat. He gestures for the ghoul to follow him as he walks swiftly to the heavy doors they came in through, pushing it open then turning when he notices Dewdrop wasn’t directly behind him. He turns, face flushing for a brief moment as he forgot the ghoul would not be moving as quick as normal and looking embarrassed. Dewdrop’s back was held ramrod straight, movements stiff and jerky as every step rubbed the layers of cloth over his back. The Cardinal has to bite his tongue to keep from apologizing; while it was second-nature for him when dealing with humans, he knows doing so would only injure the fire ghoul’s pride even further. Instead he waits patiently, again taking the lead once Dewdrop was over the threshold though with a more modest pace this time.

Through the halls Copia led him, the hour late enough that they encountered no one else. The journey was, thankfully, a short one, requiring them to only walk for a few minutes and up a single case of stairs. Copia opens another heavy door and waves Dewdrop through, leading them into what looks like a section of the dungeons converted over to house the ghouls during their mating cycles. It was eerily quiet, quick glances at the doors they walked past did not give Dewdrop any indication on if there were other occupants sequestered in the cells or not. The Cardinal stops at one particular door and pushes it open, giving the room a quick look before stepping back and clasping his hands behind his back. Dewdrop stops in the doorway, closing his eyes for a moment as he lets the searing pain in his back die down before slowly turning his head to look back at the man.

“Who,” Dewdrop grunts, “who told you… to choose this… punishment?” Every breath shot spikes of pain through his back, every choked out word bringing its own little bit of agony. The question had been churning in his mind since Copia had let the small bit of information slip, a silent demand that he confirm what he dreaded. Dew grips the side jamb of the door tightly, wanting an answer before he takes the last step into his temporary prison.

Copia, as predicted, just shook his head, looking away momentarily. “You will receive meals at the regular hours. Practice will be held as usual; an escort will fetch you and take you to the soundbooth you will be playing in. You will be monitored at all times, so please be aware that negative behavior could extend the duration of your isolation. And please, do not neglect your higiene through the next week.”

Dewdrop watches him with a hard gaze, actually making the Cardinal clear his throat and turn his head to break eye contact. The ghoul snorts and walks stiffly into the room, standing in the middle before turning to give Copia one last look. The man seems to want to say something, mouth opening but then closing it quickly and shaking his head.

“Have a good evening… Cardinal,” Dewdrop says, slowly bending a little at the waist in a shallow bow, following the etiquette as best as he could with his back in its current state.

“Good evening, ghoul,” Copia replies, nodding his head before reaching for the doorknob and closing the heavy door. The sound of it clicking shut, followed a moment later by the locks thunking into place, echoes loudly in the small room, making his stomach twist into knots.

_ This is it. You’re alone… cut off from everyone for an entire week. Seven days… _

“Fuck,” Dew breathes, shuddering hard as the reality of it makes his stomach writhe. He turns slowly, cataloging his surroundings in an attempt at distraction. The room was small with only a bed flanked by a tiny nightstand and a wardrobe, all of it measuring perhaps at most ten by ten feet. A door to one side opens to a small bathroom with a toilet, sink, and shower stall. Inside the wardrobe he finds a couple of his uniforms, all hanging neatly and ready to be donned. As he pulls off his mask Dew wonders who had put them there, and when, having no memory of anyone going through his rooms recently.  _ Maybe they took them straight from the laundry downstairs before they sent them back, I guess? _

Placing his mask and balaclava on the shelf inside the wardrobe he then pulls his tie loose, tossing it idly on top of his mask before slowly slipping the suspender straps off his shoulders, one by one. The movement stretched his raw back, making him bite his lip and suck in a harsh breath, pausing to let the pain fade some before working on his pants, kicking off his shoes so he can push them down his legs. Next was his dress shirt, fingers shaking and taking too long with the buttons but Dewdrop forces himself to go slow, not wanting to snap a button free and have that be an excuse for Papa II to extend his isolation another day. Finally he’s able to let the garment slide off his shoulders to join his pants in a small pile on the floor, leaving him in just his boxers and socks.

Sinking down onto the mattress was a feat in and of itself. His back screamed in agony at every tiny movement, making bending down to tug off his socks seem almost impossible. Dew can feel every lash pulsing sharply on his skin by the time he’s done, laying carefully down on his side and curling in on himself. A small part of him hoped the pain would crowd out his thoughts, occupy his mind so that he wouldn’t dwell on the one that beat persistently. It only worked for a few moments, however, as everything faded from searing pain to a sharp ache as his body relaxed. He could almost fall asleep, eyes heavy and bone-tired as he was, yet his mind seethed on, demanding attention.

_ There’s only one person who would know. Only one to tell them what you fear most, what would be the best punishment for you. _

Dewdrop closes his eyes, sucking in a slow breath and holding it for a long moment before letting it out. He expected to be angry, for rage to burn bright and hot in his blood till he had to scream and lash out, to hit and break something to vent it all before he would feel like exploding. But instead he finds himself cold, a throbbing ache having nothing to do with his wounded back making his eyes water and lip tremble. The soul-deep hurt was worse than any lash from Papa’s whip, a vice around his heart that crushed every carefully fabricated image of himself that he’d ever made and turned him back to the small, quiet kit that had nowhere and no one to fit in with. Except here he was alone, completely, utterly, alone. No father to go sit with, no mother to go hide his face and tears in her skirts, no Ifrit to throw an arm around his bony shoulders and hug him close.

_ Aether. _

_ You’re a fool, Dewdrop. You should have known, should have  _ **_expected_ ** _ it. How many times has he avoided you lately? How many times have you seen him, only to find him stinking of Copia’s scent? You  _ **_knew_ ** _ what they were up to on tour but decided to play dumb about it, thinking if you ignored it, it wasn’t there... _

Dew rolls over onto his back, heedless of the welts crisscrossing his pale skin. It’s almost as if he can’t feel it over the growing anguish of his broken heart, not bothering to hold back the first broken sob that’s pulled from his throat. He clenches his eyes shut, pressing his hands over his face as he falls apart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of imprisonment does not go well. But that's what punishment is supposed to be, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To help from confusing everyone with their ghoulish names...  
> Ifrit's ghoulish name is Tannim  
> Dewdrop's ghoulish name is Chanda
> 
> As a basis, Ifrit is about 8 human years older than Dewdrop.

He drifted in and out of what he could only assume was a fitful sleep, not entirely sure at points if he was dreaming or awake and just thinking. Dewdrop opens his eyes blearily as he hears a sliding sound, looking toward the door just in time to see the slot on the bottom slide closed behind a tray of food. His stomach doesn’t even rumble at the scent of hot bread and meat, instead feeling queasy and he turns onto his side to face the wall. The room was cold, whether by design as a part of the punishment or naturally so he wasn’t sure, but instead of pulling the blanket from the foot of the bed over himself he just curled into a tight ball. Eventually he again falls asleep, plagued by half-formed nightmares that he can’t explain nor remember save for the dread that follows them.

A shrill noise startles him awake sometime later and he yelps as his back erupts in streaks of fire when he rolls over onto it. Dewdrop’s eyes snap onto the alarm clock shrieking at him from the nightstand and practically flings himself off the mattress to slap it into silence. He grips the nightstand hard, panting through gritted teeth with his eyes clenched shut when the sound died, taking a few long moments to recollect himself from his wakeup call. Once the searing pain of the lashes begins to fade he looks at the clock again, realizing that he had an hour before practice would start. Tottering into the bathroom he slams the hot water on all the way in the shower before peeling off his boxers and socks, kicking them out of the way as he waits for the water to heat up. He mumbles a soft prayer to Lucifer that the water would actually be hot, hoping the clergy wouldn’t be terrible enough to take that one little thing from him.

Mercifully, it does get hot. Not quite to the extent of the band’s quarters, but it felt unblessedly wonderful in the chilly cell. Taking a deep breath Dewdrop steels himself for the sharp sting when the water hits his raw back, eyes clenched shut as he hisses, claws scratching uselessly down the slick tile. He presses his forehead to the wall, letting the water beat down on his tortured flesh, the stinging slowly fading as the heat washes away some of the ache. Knowing he was short on time Dew only stays like that for a few moments before righting himself and grabbing the soap, scrubbing vigorously at his skin. He’s much more gentle with his hair, glad that at least they sent down his usual shampoo and conditioner with his clothes, being allowed the one boon of properly keeping up with one of his most prized possessions. Pushing away all intrusive thoughts, Dew focuses on each task completely, not having the time or mental fortitude to dwell on his dreams and thoughts.

With ten minutes to spare he just finishes buttoning his tailed coat, fiddling with the cuffs absently. His eyes slide to the ignored tray of food, gone cold and still as of yet unappetizing. He does take the glass and fill it with water from the sink, sipping it slowly as he watches the clock tick away. With one minute left he dumps the remainder out then tugs on his balaclava followed by his mask, eyes now glued to the door as he waits for his escort, wondering just who it would be.

At exactly a quarter to one the lock disengages and the door opens, revealing a slim ghoul with the mouthless style silver mask. Irritation nags at Dewdrop, recognizing the ghoul in an instant.  _ Of all the ones sent to fetch me, they send him… _

“Oh good, I see you’re ready! Come along then,” Special chirps, entirely too cheerful for someone who was basically warden to a prisoner. His demeanor grates at Dewdrop’s fraying nerves and he has to actively suppress the desire to punch the clergy’s spokes-ghoul. Unsure if he was allowed to speak or not Dew just grunts and nods before leaving his cell. Everything still ached terribly but he at least didn’t feel as tense as the night before, finally able to walk with a near semblance of his normal gait.

Special walks with a spring in his step, and if Dew’s ears weren’t deceiving him it seemed as if the ghoul was humming softly to himself. He’d been so glad to learn that Special wasn’t going to be accompanying the band when the tour with Copia started, having spent the one with Papa III trying everything he could to ignore him. Maybe it was his weirdly cheerful demeanor or his annoying little giggle, or his uncanny ability to always be able to look straight through whatever defenses Dewdrop had and pick at whatever he was thinking about. Either way, Special annoyed the absolute  _ piss _ out of him and he’d been glad he hadn’t seen him in over a year.  _ Seems like all your luck has run out at once… _

“Aaaand we’re here! In you go,” Special giggles, gesturing with a hand at the door they’d stopped at. Dewdrop blinks, having not noticed how quickly they’d traversed the church while he thought. He nods to him again and steps into the soundbooth, surveying the equipment left to him quickly before scooping up his monitor and putting it on. There’s no sound through it yet as he goes about his usual routine of checking over his guitar, tweaking the tuning as he grumbles about how the other techs that service their equipment seem to be tone-deaf.

Dewdrop doesn’t even notice that the door had shut behind him, his whole attention now focused on the music and instruments.

There was a folder of tabs on a side table and he flips through them quickly; most of it was songs he already memorized ages ago. There were, however, a few new additions that he pays more attention to, head tilting as he processes the notes. Dew hums in curiosity, putting the tabs to the side then going through his warm up techniques to loosen his fingers. Just as he finished the last one there’s a soft crackle of sound through the monitor then the deep, rumbling thrum of Rain’s bass as he began doing the same. Aether’s guitar rings out bright and clear as he adjusts his settings then everything goes quiet again, all without a single voice being heard.

It makes his isolation ache that much more, knowing that he was so close to the others yet still so far, far away.

Dewdrop grimaces, slumping down onto a chair that had been left for him as he tried to ignore the feeling, trying his best to refuse to let it take hold of him again. Soon he could hear all of their instruments in a cacophony of sounds as the six other ghouls went through their warm up routines; Mistral playing through some scales on a piano setting, Zephyr working with her tamborine though he knows she’d be singing along with the taller ghoulette’s scales in a soft duet. Swiss could be heard jamming out to a song he’d most likely heard on the radio recently, no doubt also singing the words and dancing around, making the others laugh at his antics and soaking up the attention. Then there was Mountain, playing the drumline for Prime Mover as his warm up.

It makes him want to scream and beat at the walls, demand to be with the band. He nearly throws his guitar, stopping himself at the last minute and gently setting it to the side, sliding his hands underneath his mask and pressing them to his face.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he gasps, panting for air as he scrambled for control over himself. After a few moments Dewdrop shudders, dropping his hands to his lap and looking down at them. “Can’t give them a reason to keep me longer… Have to hold it together…Just six more days... Fuck…” He shakes his head then picks his guitar back up, a familiar accented voice filtering through the monitor as he settles the strap back in place over his shoulder.

“Right, everyone is good, yes? Fingers nimble, minds tuned to the music, uh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dewdrop mumbles, rolling his eyes at the Cardinal’s usual pre-practice talk.

There was a moment of silence before the Cardinal spoke again, “ah, yes. He can hear your instruments just fine, do not worry.” Dew snorts, guessing someone asked about his absence. He plays a short burst of notes, as if saying ‘ _ yeah I’m here, don’t you fucking forget it _ ’ to his bandmates.

“See? Right there!” Dewdrop can picture the Cardinal’s smile, a finger raised as if pointing in whatever direction that his soundbooth was in. “Now, let us get down to business…”

Despite not being physically present, Dewdrop thought the practice started off relatively well. Two songs in, however, he’d felt something was off and spent the third song paying more attention to the sound of his fellow ghoul’s instruments, fingers moving across his guitar strings on autopilot. Once the song ends it clicks: Rain’s bass was out of tune. But it didn’t seem like the others noticed, as they began playing the next song after a short moment. It irritated Dewdrop as the bass notes gradually went flatter till he couldn’t handle it and stopped mid-song.

“Someone fucking tune Rain’s bass already. And punch the tech that looked at it last because the goddamn pegs are loose and making the strings slip!” He snarls. It pissed Dewdrop off; he was the one to typically look after their instruments and had held the job since being summoned. He prided himself on his mechanical ability with them, even the ones he didn’t know how to play very well, and seeing someone slacking in his place was infuriating beyond belief.

Unsure if they even had a live mic in the soundbooth so someone could hear him he growls softly, exhaling harshly through his nose. The others had slowly stopped playing when his guitar had gone silent, the song grinding to a stuttering halt.

After another moment Copia’s voice filters in through the monitor. “Rain? Please see to your bass. It seems, ah, some of the pegs are loose and the strings have slipped out of tune.” Dewdrop blinks, having caught the soft, slightly unsure inflection in the Cardina’s voice, telling him that he  _ could _ be heard and Copia was reciting what he’d said to the ghouls, albeit with a bit of editing. That little bit on its own becomes a bridge spanning the chasm that separated him from his bandmates, a soft yet greatly cherished balm to his frayed mental stability.

_ You can do this, they’re right there. Close your eyes, it’s just a test to see how well you know everything, everyone. Your voice is heard, it matters. You aren’t alone. _

Taking a deep breath Dewdrop sits up straighter, eyes closed as he listens to Copia speaking to the ghouls, to the discordant sounds of Rain’s bass as they fiddled with the tuning pegs. After a few long minutes it didn’t seem like they had made any headway and Dew sighs heavily, “just leave it for now, I’ll fix it myself when I’m out. Have him use the new white one, I set it up right after we got back so it’s good to go... So long as no one has fucked with it.”

Another minute passes till there’s the distortion of sound riddled with a few low pops and a slight hiss, signaling that Rain’s bass was swapped out and the new one plugged in. A quick once over of his strings to check the tuning-- still perfect, just like he’d left it-- and then they were once again ready to play.

“Alright, good.” Copia’s voice sounds through the monitor, signaling their impromptu break was over. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes,  _ Absolution _ . From the top, if you please…”

* * *

_ The sharp, shrill drone of insects was almost deafening in the dry afternoon heat. He just wished it would drown out the taunts and the laughter, the jeers and insults. _

_ “Poor little Chanda, gonna go crying to your mother?” One of the kits calls, the others in the group snorting and laughing along. _

_ “All you can do is cry, not enough fire in your blood to fight properly,” another jeers. _

_ “Should just go run off and hide in the river,” the largest sneers, his foot lashing out and knocking him over into the dry grass and dirt. The long, sharp blades slice into his back, the cuts igniting in lines of fire. Tears well in his eyes and he tries to muffle the pained shout that erupts from his chest. _

_ “Look, crying already! Maybe you don’t have any fire in you after all, just all water like your dumb old dad!” _

_ “Leave my dad alone!” he yells, scrambling to his feet. “Yours can’t even last five minutes in the pit against my mom!” _

_ “Fuck you!” the bully yells as a fist connects with his cheek and nose, snapping his head back and sending him back into the dirt. Spots dance across his vision and he feels something wet starting to drip down his face, then a moment later the taste of copper and salt flooding his mouth. As if on cue the other kits join in, punching and kicking at him. He curls into a ball, covering his head with his thin arms to try and shield himself from another blow to the face. _

_ Solace comes in the form of a familiar voice shouting at the group of kits,“hey! What the fuck are you all doing? Stop that!” _

_ They all stopped in their tracks, fists raised and legs pulled back, ready to strike again as heads turned to look at the newcomer. When he moves his arms he can see the worried looks on the other kits’ faces, though he has to push himself off the ground to see who would strike such unease amongst them. A ghoul a few years older than all of them stands nearby, arms crossed over his chest and bright blue eyes gleaming in anger. _

_ Everyone knew Tannim, the first son of Sekhmet. She was a legend, second only to the sun spirit Sol in the fighting pits, and Tannim was proving to be just as talented as she was. _

_ “What, you all think you’re all big and tough, ganging up on one little kit? Should be ashamed of yourselves,” the older ghoul snarls at them. “Only cowards and weaklings do this shit, but seeing who you all are… well, can’t say I’d expect anything else.” _

_ “W-we aren’t weak! The little half blood thinks he can talk shit and get away with it! We’re just putting him in his place,” one of the kits growls, though there is a slight tremor to their voice. _

_ “Yeah! He insulted my father, I’m not going to let him get away with that!” the largest kit says, squaring his shoulders and glaring right back at the older ghoul. _

_ “Maybe if your dad had an actual backbone instead of getting his ass beat by anyone who enters the pit, he’d be worth defending,” Tannim chuckles, grinning. “And shut your mouth before a bird decides to build a nest in it. Or don’t, it’d look funny.” The kit’s eyes go wide and his mouth snaps shut, teeth audibly clicking together and his face turning a deep scarlet. _

_ “Y...you can’t say…” he starts, voice and body beginning to tremble. _

_ “What, the truth? I could beat all your dads at once, alone,” the ghoul scoffs, cracking his knuckles for emphasis. _

_ “No you can’t!” one of the other kits snorts, then parroted by a couple others as they join in on his confidence. _

_ “Sure I can. Just be careful of signing them up for something they won’t be able to do. Be pretty embarrassing if they had to decline the challenge.” _

_ The group of kits all gulp and look around at each other before scurrying off, heads down and tails tucked between their legs. Tannim snorts, rolling his eyes as he holds a hand out. “What a bunch of pathetic little shits. You alright Chanda?” _

_ “Y-yeah,” he mumbles, taking the ghoul’s hand and stumbling to his feet. “Thanks Tannim…” _

_ The older ghoul looks him over silently for a moment before ruffling his hair affectionately, “I gotta teach you how to fight back properly. I can’t always be a stone’s throw away.” _

_ “Mom says I’m too young for real fighting still… and too small…” He looks down at his feet, wiping at the trickle of blood from his nose with the back of his hand. He loved his mother immensely, but he wished she wasn’t so protective and would let him follow in her footsteps fighting in the pits. _

_ “Your mom means well… but I don’t think she really gets it,” Tannim sighs. “They aren’t going to give up fucking with you till you show them it’s a bad idea to keep trying.” _

_ “They’re all older than me by at least one summer… and twice my weight,” he whines, wincing at how pathetic his voice sounded even to himself. _

_ “So we work out how to use that against them.” The older ghoul looks around quickly before bending down closer to him, voice hushed and secretive, “maybe, I can start teaching you a few things, in the afternoons when you have free time after lessons. Your parents won’t have to know anything, we can say we’re just playing around.” _

_ “R...really?” His eyes go wide, hope blossoming in his chest at the thought of one of the best pit fighters in their village wanting to teach him to fight. “You mean it?” _

_ “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re my best friend, gotta make sure you can look after yourself,” Tannim chuckles. “So, how about we get you home and cleaned up… maybe your mom’ll be nice and feed me today…” _

The memory breaks as his eyes snap open, and just like that the scorching desert heat and screeching drone of insects is gone, replaced by the chilled air and dead silence of his cell.

“Fuck me,” Dewdrop groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “Why I gotta remember that shit now…?” Ifrit’s mischievous grin haunted him in an afterimage burned into his mind, the memory resolute and not fading like most his dreams tended to. He didn’t bother looking at the clock; time was irrelevant when there was no practice to look forward to.

“Six more days… you can last that long. Just six days,” he tries to convince himself. But it’s as if thinking about the time remaining makes the end feel so far, far away. Shifting onto his side makes him wince and hiss softly, the lashes healing slowly and protesting any movement.

_ Having Aether around has spoiled you. You’ve had worse and could still fight in the pits. _

“Spoiled in more ways than that,” Dew whispers softly as his mind turns to his…  _ Partner? Boyfriend? Lover? _

“Bandmate,” he decides, his recent revelations about the bigger ghoul making the other terms seem ill-fitting. “Were we ever more than just… what we are now? Have I been making it all up…?”

_ Would he be slinking off to fuck the rat if you were? _

Dewdrop winces, the truth of if stinging as harsh as the lashes on his back.

“Fuck this,” he breathes, staring at the wall. It was blank, carefully smoothed and painted a dull white and gave the cell a distinct feel of emptiness. Everything about the place exudes emptiness, amplifying the ache that had settled inside his chest and grown to take over almost all of him. Becoming more and more acute every time he woke.

_ Emptiness, inside and out. _

Groaning softly Dewdrop curls in on himself, tucking knees to chest and wrapping his arms and tail around them. The logical part of his brain told him he should get up, move about to relieve some of the restless energy he always seemed to have. To eat the food that will be pushed through the slot in the door at some point. He hadn’t eaten anything since that small frozen pizza before being imprisoned but the thought of food made his gut give a sickening lurch.

Dewdrop presses his hands over his face, eyes squeezed shut, begging silently for sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rage and fire have always been his closest friends, always there to keep him company. But without them the dark closes in, threatening to eat him alive.

_ Darkness, as if his vision were gone, or the sun snuffed out. No trace of light anywhere to be found, no matter which way he turned and looked. Whispers echoed from every corner: sharp, biting words that each felt like the lash licking his back. And then something of unknown form clings to him, like thousands of tiny hands gripping at whatever part of him they could reach, pinprick claws tearing into his flesh. He screams, flailing to push them away only for them to surge back and the whispers taking on a frantic, hungry tone. _

_ Dewdrop tries to fight them off but fails, and in his desperation he grasps for the flame that rests within him, feeling the searing fire explode out from his body and incinerate anything around him. He goes limp, falling into a heap as he gasps for air, noting that all was silent, all was still around him, sparking a tiny flame of hope that whatever it was had burnt to ashes. _

_ The silence breaks like an enormous pane of tempered glass, exploding into countless tiny shards. _

_ They were shrieks now, scathing and searing his eardrums till he thinks they burst. The little hands return as well, the claws thicker, matured, and rip into the flesh of his arms and shoulders with a sickening ease. Dewdrop screams again, writhing in terror and pain, inundated with the base desire to flee. And then something new comes, something that makes his blood run cold and heart nearly stop in his chest: a voice, it’s words unintelligible but the tone so very, very familiar. It conjures up a vision of soft amethyst eyes and wide shoulders, of warm lips on his neck and searing hot hands that burn paths down over his hips and thighs. Of taking and being taken, of sharing the most primal of instincts, sating the most base of hungers. But also of trust broken, ripped apart before his very eyes and spat upon. _

_ The scent of cologne, india ink, and rodents clogs his nostrils, chokes out the air in his lungs. He flails again, screaming and gasping, doing whatever he could to escape, to push it all away and hide but nothing worked, nothing helped. The scent, that goddamn scent!, permeated everything, coating him in a slick layer of filth and snuffing out whatever embers he had left, poisoning his last gasped breath-- _

Dewdrop’s eyes shoot open, taking a desperate, gasping breath that was so deep his entire body jerks, sending him tumbling over the edge of the bed. The floor is hard and cold, the shock of it against his naked skin making him yelp and flail about yet his legs refuse to move, making panic spike in his chest. The room was pitch black and for one long, terrifying moment his heart lurched, thinking he was still trapped in the void with those  _ things _ . He rolls and tries to kick with his bound legs, slashing with his claws at whatever it was that trapped him, desperate as any cornered animal.

Dewdrop’s claws dig into fabric, ripping and tearing at it till his legs are free and kicking the bindings away before scuttling backwards. He goes until his back slaps against something cold and solid, sending a shock down his spine as lines of fire erupt across his skin. Dewdrop bites his tongue to keep the scream that built in his throat down, pressing his hands over his lips to seal them shut as he holds his breath, doing everything he could to not move a muscle. His eyes are wide as they scanned the velvet shadows for those reaching tendrils and their claws, trying to make out anything at all.

It felt like an eternity before his eyes adjusted to the dark, revealing the dull outlines of his cell. Dew lets out the held breath in a rush, going limp for a moment as he sucks in desperate breath after breath then scrambling to his feet and lurching across the room, slapping at the switch on the wall. Light floods the small space and he hisses, covering his eyes with his hands and blinking rapidly till his eyes once again adjusted to the change. Soon as he’s able, Dewdrop surveys the room, scrutinizing every dark corner and shadow for signs of those little, grabbing hands…

Dew slinks back to the bed and sits down heavily on the edge, back hunched over with elbows braced on his knees. He forlornly stares at the ripped up blanket; he must have gotten tangled up in it as he thrashed during the nightmare, which led him to believe the fabric was instead those…  _ whatever the hell they were _ . A harsh shudder runs down his back and he bears his fangs in a silent grimace, the memory on its own still too fresh and vivid to recount alone.  _ And sober. _

“Fuck this, fuck all of this,” Dewdrop growls, tail thrashing. The little clock on the nightstand tells him it was two in the morning and despite the absurdly early hour, Dewdrop was sure sleep wasn’t going to be something he was going to get more of.  _ Or wanted more of _ , he mused to himself when he shuffled over to pick the blanket up.  _ If that’s the kind of shit my brain is going to be throwing at me I’m not going back to sleep for a long time… _

* * *

The sound of metal sliding on metal grabs his attention, eyes immediately snapping to the door just in time to see his breakfast tray be sent in. The slot snaps closed almost immediately after the tray cleared it, keeping the deliverer a mystery.

“Not that I fucking care who it is,” Dewdrop grumbles to himself. The muscles in his arms quake slightly from exertion, pulling his attention back to his task. He slowly lowers himself till the tip of his nose just barely brushes the floor, holding the position before pushing himself back up. He completed the exercise a few more times before sitting up and raking fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, giving himself a moment to let his breathing return to a more normal rate before lumbering to his feet and walking to the door. The fire ghoul surveys the tray, dropping down to sit with folded legs in front of it.

“Bagel, bacon, fried egg, sausage…” he pushes the contents around with the tip of a claw, finding the food to be disinteresting. Dewdrop noticed, with an almost detached curiosity, that the scent of fried meat did not rouse his appetite, as if that, too, had been surrendered to the Cardinal along with his phone a couple days prior.

He makes a face and pushes the tray back against the door slot, “no coffee, not even a cup of goddamn tea. Gonna fucking kill me from caffiene withdrawl…” Dewdrop glares at it, as if doing so would make a mug of either hot drinks appear. In the end he ignores the food as he’s done before, taking the glass and filling it with water from the sink and gulping it down. He fills it again and takes it back into the room, setting it onto the nightstand.

“Right, back to work…” He stands in the middle of the room, eyes closed and focused on his breathing, relaxing his muscles as he centers himself mentally. Slowly he shifts, feet sliding apart, hips and torso turned just so, arms up and in position. Dewdrop holds the pose for a few long breaths then flows into motion, his body moving almost entirely on it’s own from years of practice, everything having been committed to memory early in his life. He flows through the katas, starting with the simple ones the kits first learned, progressing further into the ones his mother taught him specifically to make use of his slight build and fast reflexes.

Dewdrop doesn’t hear the slot in the door reopening and the tray being removed, his entire focus on his form and movements. The cell itself becomes a soft blur, a mere boundary that he had to adjust to in a show of skill.

_ “Always pay attention to your surroundings,” Tannim said, perched on the edge of the dried pond. “You’re at a physical disadvantage, so you gotta get creative if you wanna win.” _

_ The desiccated mud crunches under the older ghoul’s feet as he hops down and walks a slow circuit. “Let’s say you’re fighting in one of the small pits, about this size. Plenty room for most things, but you have to be careful not to get backed up against a wall.” Tannim stops next to where the rockwall juts up and out, the surface worn smooth by the water that would flood through during the rainy season. _

_ “But remember, you’re faster than any of them, much more nimble. Make them trap themselves against the wall and get around them. Use their momentum to slam them into it.” _

_ “Walls aren’t obstacles,” he grins, “they’re just another tool to use when you’re fighting.” _

Dewdrop flops back onto the bed, panting from exertion as the memory faded slowly. “Walls are a fucking cage when you aren’t fighting anything,” he snarls, pushing sweaty strands of hair out of his face. He lays there for a long while, eyes closed and just floating in the soft calm his exertions brought. He doesn’t even realize the time till the door slot opens and his lunch arrives. He can smell it bright as day from across the room: the spicy, vinegary tang of some kind of pickled vegetable, hot rice, a spiced stew with some variety of seafood. He again ignores it, feeling too tired to move from his bed to get the tray. It feels like an enormous effort to turn his head and look at the clock, staring at the glaring red numbers without his mind processing their meaning. Eventually they blur together, shifting into the background and eventually into soft, fuzzy nothing.

The alarm jolts him awake, like being doused in ice-cold water. Dewdrop jerks around, his muscles sore and stiff, till he can reach out and slap the button to turn it off, his heart beating just a bit too fast in his chest. With a soft groan he collapses back onto the bed, wishing he could just stay there, unmoving, for the rest of…  _ Forever. Why not… _

“Stupid fucking mental bullshit,” he grumbles, forcing himself to get up and shuffle into the bathroom. He turns on the shower, shoving his boxers off then stretching while he waits for the water to heat, noting that while they still ached and throbbed, the lashes seemed to be healing. He showers quickly, feeling partially disconnected from himself, as if he were floating a few steps behind where his body actually was. Dewdrop chalks it down to being tired; the lack of restful sleep was bound to have caught up with him at some point. He plods along, sluggish 

He’s just finished fastening the last button on his coat when the lock disengages and the door swings open.

“GOOOOooood morning sunshine!” Special singsongs, waving jovially with a wide sweep of his arm. “Chop chop! No time for dilly-dallying!”

Dewdrop just barely represses the urge to tackle Special and strangle him, instead giving him a flat stare from behind his mask and flicking him off as he stalks from his cell.

“Well someone is in a bad mood it seems,” Special giggles, the sound like nails on chalkboard to Dew’s ears. Refusing to rise to the slim ghouls’s bait Dew stomps down the hall, flinging open the door at the end with more force than necessary and slamming it into the wall. Special tsks at him but drops his attempts at conversation, teleporting a few meters ahead and while still keeping his stride.

_ Fucking showoff,  _ Dewdrop growls to himself, clenching his jaw and following on Special’s heels. He doesn’t acknowledge Special once they arrive back at the same recording booth as before, simply shouldering past him and yanking the door closed behind him, heaving a relieved sigh once he was sealed off in the quiet room. The anger and annoyance drains out of him, leaving Dewdrop feeling strangely hollow, tired and worn thin.

_ I’m at the very least allowed this _ , he concedes as he crosses the small room to pick up his guitar, sliding his fingers up the white-laquered mahogany neck lovingly. Nothing brought on the sweet, pure feeling of serenity like handling an instrument did, whether playing it or working on it it didn’t matter. It was as if they as a whole were a piece of himself left stranded, only feeling complete when he had one in hand.

Dewdrop smiles softly, the kind of smile that most would reserve for their dearest lover, and picks the guitar up. The strap settles on his shoulder in a familiar weight like it belonged there,  _ which it does _ , fingers strumming the strings to test the tuning. He’s filled with a sense of pride at his skill in maintaining his instruments, rarely having to worry about the tuning going off or any other kind of mishap.  _ This is why I’m here, there’s no one better at it than  _ **_me_ ** .

_ This is also the only reason they haven’t sent you back yet, _ the cold, logical part of his brain whispers. And for once, Dewdrop admits that it’s true. Given the past couple of days to begin to reflect on his actions really put it into perspective. He muses over this as he sets himself up, getting the monitor in place and turned on, walking a short circuit of the sound booth and listening for the tell-tale sounds of his fellow bandmates joining in to begin their warmups.

Everything was quiet, however, leaving Dewdrop to wonder if he was early, or perhaps they were late? What if the practice was cancelled and no one informed Special not to bring him in? He chews on his bottom lip nervously, fingers plucking at the strings of the guitar unconsciously. When he plays a little tune he stops, tilts his head to one side, then plays the notes again.

_ I remember this one _ , he thinks, slowly playing more of the song as he recalled it from the deep recesses of his memory.  _ This was the first song you heard mom play at the bonfire that one year. The first time you ever saw, much less touched, an instrument… _

* * *

Their bonfire was immense, a huge tower of wood and flames, casting the area in a glowing warmth. He stared at it, eyes wide and mouth agape in awe, clutching at his mother’s skirts as if afraid it would come crashing down upon him. Other kits ran by, yelling and squealing happily as they chased the embers and sparks that drifted from the inferno, the adults nearby watching them with amusement.

This wasn’t the only bonfire in their village, nor the largest one, but it was the one his family built and shared with his mother’s friends and their kits, a rare mingling of a separate family with one of the communes. He didn’t quite understand what made his family so different from the others, but when he would ask his mother would just smile and promise to tell him when he was older.

“ _ Roshni! You should play for us! _ ” one of the ghoulettes from nearby called out. She was followed with cheers and shouts parroting the request, the small crowd shifting to converge on their little spot.

“ _ Oh, I haven’t played in so long, I’ve probably forgotten how, _ ” his mother, Roshni, laughs, waving away the other ghouls. “ _ Or, at the very least, it’d sound terrible… _ ”

“ _ Hah! Quit talking yourself down, we all know how good you can play, _ ” the same ghoulette says, grinning. “ _ Come on, it’s the season’s first bonfire! What better time to pick back up something that you gave up on? _ ”

“ _ Well, yeah, but… _ ” Roshni shifts from foot to foot, and he thinks he can feel the hand she has on the top of his head tremble slightly. He looks up, trying to gauge what emotion was playing across her face.

_ Is mom scared? That can’t be right, mom’s not afraid of anything. _

“ _ But I, ah, _ ” she goes on timidly, “ _ I don’t have a guitar to play… _ ”

The ghoulette points to something behind Roshni, beaming happily. “ _ Looks like your Yanamayu has that covered! _ ”

Sure enough, when he pulls away from his mother’s skirts and cranes his head to look, there’s his father walking up the lane from their home, carrying something under one lanky arm. He chirps excitedly and bounds off, scrambling down the path and shallow stairs to grab one of his father’s legs, jumping to try and see what it was he had.

“ _ Patience, little spark, _ ” his father chuckles, pausing to kneel down and scoop him up. He chitters and chirps brightly, scrambling up to sit astride his shoulders, little hands grasping onto his horns. He loved being carried around like this, feeling like he was high in the air and able to see everything around him. From this vantage point he could make out the bright patches of light beyond theirs, lighting up the village and out into the desert beyond like stars in the sky.

“ _ Da!! Look, Da! All the lights! _ ” he chirped, bouncing excitedly on his perch, nearly losing his balance and having to grab at his father’s thick braided hair to keep from falling.

“ _ Yes, I see them, Chanda, _ ” the river ghoul smiled, reaching his free arm up and helping his kit regain his seat, taking the yanking of his hair and horns in stride. “ _ There’s something better to see here, though. Something your mother is wonderful at. _ ”

He squeals again, urging his father to hurry so he could find out what it was. It only took the older ghoul a couple of minutes to be back within the ring of light their bonfire cast, weaving through the ghouls and kits to the side everyone was gathering at. From this high up he could see right over most of the other ghouls to find his mother having an animated conversation with the ghoulette that spoke earlier, though the moment they press through the last group of ghouls she looks over, giving them a rueful smile.

“ _ Yana, _ ” she sighs as the river ghoul helps him clamber down from his shoulders. “ _ How long have you been sneaking about planning this? _ ” There’s a slight lilt to her voice, one that he’s come to recognize as her being unhappy but not wanting to show it to anyone else.

_ They’ll probably fight later, they always do when she talks like that, _ he thinks to himself clutching at his father’s pants leg as they join her. He cranes his head as the box his father carried was handed over, trilling as he darts over to his mother’s skirts to see as she opened it.

“ _ Mama, Mama what’s that? _ ” he asks, blinking at the strange thing that was revealed. It was an odd, roundish shape with a long, thin part at one end, a hole cut out in the middle and seemingly held together with strings that glittered in the firelight.

“ _ It’s called a guitar, little spark, _ ” she explains, picking it up and holding it so that the big end rested on her lap and her left hand held the long, skinny part. He gasps when she strokes the claws of her right hand over the strings, instantly surprised by the fact that they were stiff and didn’t bend or snap, but mostly by the sound that came from it.

“ _ Yana, you did the shittest job tuning it, sounds like strangling a hellcat, _ ” Roshni grumbles, her left hand reaching out and messing with the little bits at the very end. Each time she moved one she plucked at a string, emitting warbling, discordant sound from the guitar.

“ _ Eeeee, bad! _ ” he cringed, making a face as his ears twitched with each new sound.

“ _ Bad? What’s bad, Chanda? _ ” his mother asks, looking at him curiously. “ _ The whole thing, or just this one? _ ”

He shakes his head, listening as she plucks the strings again. “ _ That one! _ ” he exclaims when she plucks the same one, bouncing up and down and pointing excitedly. She gives him a brilliant smile and trills softly, fiddling with it again before plucking the string once more.

“ _ Is that better? _ ” she asked, slowly adjusting the strings till he cheered that sounded right. “ _ What a smart kit my Chanda is, _ ” she purrs in delight, though their moment was cut short as other ghouls start calling and cheering for her to start playing. She reaches out and ruffles his hair fondly before she turns all her attention to her guitar. Roshni gives one last strum across all the strings and the crowd goes quiet, everyone’s attention focused on her.

The song starts with slow, measured notes, as if she were remembering the song one at a time. It begins to speed up slowly, the notes losing their somber tone and becoming lively, happy. Someone in the crowd starts tapping their foot in time, then another starts clapping softly. As Roshni’s playing sped up more and more of the ghouls fell into step to the music, stomping their feet or clapping, even a ghoulette started singing in a high, warbling voice. Soon the whole crowd was moving and dancing, singing along to the bright and clear notes of Roshni’s guitar.

He didn’t dance, though. Nor did he clap or sing. He stayed perfectly silent, eyes glued to his mother as she played, his entire focus locked on the way her fingers moved along the strings and the sounds the guitar made. It was the first time he’d ever seen or heard anything like it, yet he knew in that instant that it was part of him, just like his small, still-growing horns were, or whichever element he would take on from his parents.

* * *

Dewdrop stayed perched on the chair, cradling his guitar close as the last note faded into silence. The memory left him aching with loneliness, missing his parents terribly. He wished his mother could see him now, see him on the stage playing for thousands of cheering fans. How proud she’d be of him―

_ Or, not… If she saw you now, she’d just be disappointed. _

He heaves a sigh, the ache that had settled in his chest dropping down to the pit of his stomach. For a moment he’s nearly overwhelmed with nausea, clenching his jaw shut and fighting to keep whatever was in him from coming up. It thankfully fades quickly though leaves him shivering and weak, unable to stand and play for the moment. He slumps back in the chair, eyes closed and focusing on the old breathing exercises Aether had taught him years ago during his beginning attempts to wrangle in the fire ghoul’s temper.

Remembering how Aether had convinced him to sit across from him on the floor, legs crossed and hands in his lap, mirroring the bigger ghoul’s stance, made the ache twist sharply into something else, something that stabbed deep into him that simultaneously felt like it was searing hot and blisteringly cold. Dewdrop bites his lip, whimpering softly as he doubles over, curling around his guitar as if the instrument could shield him from the pain.

Zephyr’s synth sings a chord in the faceted tones of a pipe organ through his monitor, a lifeline that he mentally clutches tightly. Slowly, as the other ghouls filter in with their instruments, he pulls himself away from the edge of despair, fighting to regain his natural temper and aggression and squash down the pain and fear and the softer things that only stood to ruin him.

Dewdrop drowns his thoughts in music, in the deep, thrumming lines of bass and the high pitched shrieks of guitar strings through distortion pedals and amplifiers. Anything that was not chords and notes and stage cues is shoved away as unnecessary and useless. He lets the searing heat of anger and rage flow unbridled through his blood, translating the need for violence into musical savagery, stomping and working the strings so hard he can feel the scream of tension through the metal. He doesn’t even notice till they’ve stopped about half an hour later that he’s somehow cut open one of his fingers, the brilliant white body of his Fantomen now splattered with small drips and drops of crimson.

Letting out a shaky breath, Dewdrop takes a moment to calm down before inspecting the cut. It was, fortunately, nothing too terrible and he sticks the finger in his mouth, the salty-metallic taste of blood coating his tongue as he searches for something to clean his guitar with before it is stained.

Copia’s voice filters through the monitor just as he finishes wiping the guitar down a last time to make sure he hasn't missed any spots. After he growls an affirmative when the Cardinal asks if everyone is ready he adjusts his stance, imagining the room around him was the stage and moving best as he could to his cues, once again enveloped by the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick, small note on Dewdrop's mentioning his parents fighting:  
> Fighting is like breathing to Sun Tribe fire ghouls, and is especially common amongst couples. They believe that by acting on their emotions and having it out with their partner helps keep the relationship clean and releases tension that might otherwise build up; hiding emotions and keeping secrets from someone close brings a since of dishonesty. Very rarely are arguments and grudges held onto past a good fight. And, the best part about fighting is the making up *wink wink nudge nudge*.  
> So, Dewdrop's parents fighting is common and actually healthy for them. In case anyone was wondering or worried for our poor little gremlin. 💙💙💙


End file.
